Her Honor
by S. Apollymi
Summary: Lyona Terra is the victor 69th Hunger Games, and best friend to the Capital's Golden Boy, Finnick Odair. The Capital has taken everything away from her and now they wants more. Her honor is all she has left. Finnick/OC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : Heya guys, this is my first time publishing something on here. Figured it was time ^^"

Hope you enjoyed this little one-shot of Finnick and my OC Lyona Terra. I might be thinking of turning this into a full-out story following the storyline of The Hunger Games, but that idea is still currently in the works. If I do, then the story probably won't be a light and fluffy one :s

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 **Update 15/6/16** : I'm going to be turning this into a full-out story :) I'm not sure where Lyona and Finnick are going to end up, but I have a vague idea it's not going to be an easy journey u.u

Stay tuned

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 **Fandom** : The Hunger Games

 **Pairing** : Finnick Odair/Lyona Terra (OC)

 **Summary** : Lyona Terra is the victor of the 69th Hunger Game and Finnick Odair's best friend. The Capital wants her.

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 **Her Honor**

"Please, Finnick."

The man before her shakes his head, the strands of his beach-blonde hair falls across his face. "Lyona, I-I _can't_." He turns away from her, cradling his face in the palm of his calloused hands. No matter how much Finnick wants to deny this, he couldn't. Not when she's sitting there, right beside him, tense and trying so hard to stay strong. It was always a possibility, ever since she was reaped for the 69th Hunger Game, ever since he made her promise to _try_ and win, no matter what. But, it was _only_ a possibility so long as she came out as the victor, the moment he realizes how much the Capital loves her, his heart was torn to shreds thinking of her promise to him.

Lyona Terra has never broken a promise to him. Never.

When she was announced as the victor of the 69th Hunger Game, he was torn between feeling relief that his best friend survived and slight trepidation, enough to wish that she didn't, wanting to save her from his fate. He cursed himself when he dared to wish her dead when he so clearly knew he can't live without her. So here she is, mere months after the bloodbath, merciful kills and haunting nightmares and just shy of 16.

The Capital's greedy for her, just as much as they are for him.

He's pulled out from his self-loathing by a worn pair of hands, hands that held him when he first broke down after the games, hands that brought him comfort; hands, despite being tainted, grounded him. The raven-haired beauty gently coaxed him to meet her hazel honey eyes. God, her eyes, they are the most stunning thing he has ever seen. Even more exquisite than the beaches of District 4, and that's saying something. They are the colors of pebbles he would find on the beaches; soft crisp browns, expanding out into shades of ocean blues and greens beneath an overcast sky. The mysterious depths of the ocean rim the outer edges. Her eyes were the color of District 4 but are reminiscent of her home, District 10. The ocean mixing with autumn. Combine with her gentle oriental features and ivory skin; she's a soothing balm to his soul. The 65th Hunger Game victor can see the faint glimmer of hope within those hazel-blue eyes, fluttering in between existence.

"The Capital took something away from the both of us when we entered the Games," her voice croak, eyes mist over, "no matter how much we deny it, no matter how much we hate it, they _own_ a part of us." Lyona lets out a scornful chuckle, "Ever since I was reaped for the game, ever since I was announced a victor, I felt like… like I'm missing a part of myself. As though a part of me never left the arena when I won, and I don't think I'll ever get that part of me back.

"Winning the Game gave Snow control over you, over me, but I—" she let out a breathy sigh, "I can't— I _won't_ let him take _this_ away from me. It's _mine_ and mine _alone_ to give. Not his."

There's a frog at the back of Finnick's throat, heart clenching, and churning. He cups her face with his hands, pulling her close to rest his forehead against her. The warmth scent of summer days and metallic, musky iron fills the crevices of his mind. No amount of Capital pampering will ever get rid of the scent that clouded his mind ever since he first met her. The little girl with obsidian hair and a shy smile.

"I'm the Capital's Golden Boy, their Darling," he spat, "you hand this over to me, you're essentially giving yourself o0ver to them! How—" his voice wavers as apprehension sets in, his muted green eyes peered into hers. "How can you even consider _me_?" he asks bitterly, "how are you not disgusted with me? Why are you still by my side—"

"Because I don't _see_ the Capital's Golden Boy when I look at you." She cuts him off; hazel-ocean eyes piercing his. "I don't _see_ their Darling or ever felt disgust when I look at you." Lyona's thumb caresses the apple of his cheeks. Finnick's hands left her face and rests on her hips, arms wrap firmly around her waist. She inhales sharply. Their breath mingles, as space became almost non-existence between the pair. "I see Finnick Odair. My Finn; the boy whom I use to sneak out of District 10 just to meet. The charming, brilliant boy who taught me how to swim, weave a net and wield his trident." The pair chuckles softly at the unintentional innuendo. "He grew up to be an _amazing_ person, who did _**everything**_ he had to do in order to survive the Game, to come back to me, just because I _asked_." The raven-haired vision melts into his arms. "I see _him_ , this amazing, brilliant guy with forest-green eyes and a big heart, his arms always wrapped around me, keeping me safe. He does _**everything**_ he can to protect me, even now. But, there are some things out there you just can't keep me safe from… So I'm asking, as your Lena to my Finn…"

How… how did he get so lucky? To have someone like her by his side… how— How could he not want to protect her, how could he abandon her when she needs him the most? _His Lena_ , his raven-haired-hazel-ocean-eyed lucky charm who is an intricate part of his life.

He slams his lips into hers. The touch of her lips obliterates every single thought. For the first time in a long time, Finnick's in control of his actions. He _chose_ to do this. He _chose_ to kiss her. He _**wants**_ to kiss her. He dances his tongue to the seam of her lips, without hesitation Lena grants him access and he delves in. His taste buds explode with her flavor; he deepens the kiss hungrily wanting more. Her tongue shyly reaches out to play with his causing him to groan lowly. Oh, how long had he entertained the idea of kissing her? How long had he seen her in a different light and something more than a best friend? He has no idea when those feelings manifested, he just realized it one day, having tea with Mags when he realized he loves her. This isn't a client in his arms, whose touches would make him shiver in revulsion and utter abhorrence. This isn't someone Snow whored him out to. This isn't a _fuck_. This is what he wants, _longs_ for. He has no intention of losing contact with her lips. Intoxicated by her, driven by the desire to touch her, to move his hands underneath her summer dress and feel her perfect softness. In moments, their touch became more frantic, he savors the quickening of her breath and salacious moans that match his own.

A kiss like this was a beginning, a promise for the future ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Heya guys, sorry for the long wait. I'm not too entirely sure about this chapter, but this is what came out. It's unedited so apologizes for any grammatical mistakes you might find

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 **Fandom** : The Hunger Games

 **Pairing** : Finnick Odair/Lyona Terra (OC)

 **Summary** : Lyona Terra is the victor of the 69th Hunger Game and Finnick Odair's best friend. The Capitol wants her.

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74ADD

 _A few weeks before the Reaping_

It didn't take long for the raven-haired victor to settle down beside him, resting her head on his chest. He instinctively pulls her closer; fitting together like pieces of a puzzle, his chin resting on top of her untamable waves. He breathes in deeply: the warm scent of long summer days, the slightest lingering of metallic rust and honeysuckle, the strangest of combination, but completely hers.

Nine long years since Finnick Odair's time in the arena, five for his Lena. Both carrying the scars of their days in the arena, weighing down heavily on their hearts and soul. The Capitol never let them forget how they own the victors. The sight of Victory Village, their reflection in the mirror, every second spent with a client — the never-ending reminders of the barbed collar suffocating them, and the hand that held the leash. They treasure the moments when they're hidden away from the Capitol's prying eyes, tuck away in their own little world where all that matters is one another — memories of leashes momentarily forgotten.

The Capitol's Darling and The Huntress.

What a pair they make.

They didn't bother keeping their friendship a secret. It's impossible, something this big… even a blind man would've suspicions. So, they're playing their roles well, blatantly throwing their friendship to the cameras and using it to their advantage. The Capitol adores them for it, devouring their story like bloodthirsty sharks. The story of a farmer-girl from District 10 and fisher-boy from District 4, how they became friends and how that friendship fought against the test of time. The Games, the Arena, everything the world — Snow — threw at them, they endured. However, even with the advantage of being the Capitol's beloved, the victors are still careful of how they interact. Constantly on guard. Wouldn't want Snow to think they're encouraging District _Unity_ now, would they?

Thankfully in all these years, no one has yet to realize the true nature of their relationship. That is a secret closely guarded like a dragon's and its hoard. Finnick and Lena are the masters of facades: how to manipulate the Capitol — Snow — into thinking that their relationship is nothing more than platonic with a healthy dose of competitiveness, considering they are from rivaling Districts. Both who have a shared suffering and know the sacrifice they're making. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It's almost that time again." The raven-haired beauty murmurs into this chest, she breathes out a heavy sigh.

Finnick hums in agreement, playing with strands of her hair, curling it around his finger.

"Who do you think is going to survive this year?"

"Probably one of the Careers, but," he turns to face her, forest-green meets hazel-honey, "you never know."

"I'm guessing Mags and you are mentoring Four's tributes?"

"Yes. There's no way Eridan would mentor and we both know Anna's in no condition to do anything."

Anna Cresta, the victor of the 70th Hunger Games, couldn't cope after witnessing the decapitation of her fellow tribute. She only survived because she was the strongest swimmer when the Gamemakers decided to flood the arena. Finnick honestly had little hope that she would _somehow_ manage to last more than a day. Anna's soft heart, hesitancy, and dependency didn't do her any favors. But, nonetheless, Finnick did the best he could, hoping his efforts this time round would give Anna and Bain a chance at surviving at least past the bloodbath.

At some point, Anna reminded him of his Lena. They were compassionate, kind and softhearted, but that's where the similarity ends. Lena knew what needed to be done to survive the Game, to come home to him. God, he knew killing someone taints a part of themselves, sitting on their souls like open pulsing wounds. But he could never regret making her promise to come home to him — whatever it takes.

He could never forget…

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" _Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 69_ _th_ _Hunger Games!" The commentator — Caesar — exclaimed with a gleam in his eyes, "This is the game we've all be waiting for. In a few moments, the tributes will enter the arena and the game will commence! I know we should pay equal attention to each tribute, but we all know which one's caught our eye ever since the Reaping: District 10's Lyona Terra, who is quickly earning a name for herself, might I add with a solid ten—"_

 _Finnick lets Caesar's commentary wash over him. Sitting rigidly on the couch, elbows on knees, fingers laced, green eyes never leaving the screen; he refused to even_ breathe _. Mags had long since stopped trying to reassure him. His mind couldn't acknowledge anything other than what's to come. The arena was a desert. A_ blistering _, dry wasteland with only the ruins of the landscape for coverage and shelter from the sun. The rolling golden hills stirred as the wind breezed through, bringing wispy waves of sand._

 _God, it felt like everything was against him. He never wanted this for her. He prayed every single day that his Lena would never experience the bloodshed and slaughter as he did; to take a life with her hands. But, it looks like the odds were_ not _in his favor. He knew he should focus on his own tributes Mags and he mentored, but all his attention was focused solely on District 10's female tribute. Lyona Terra. His Lena._

 _He didn't know what to do._

 _Farmland dominated District 10's landscape, with its wide-open fields of golden, brown and green squares held together by thick stitches of trees, shrubberies, and hedgerows. They rose and fell like gentle ocean waves after a storm with farm animals dotted across the land as they grazed. Occasionally, Lena would play in the woods, climbing the tall trees, using it as an advantage point to keep an eye out for the animals and PeaceKeepers._

 _This was a terrain neither Finnick nor Lena predicted. Already the odds were stacked against her. Cursing under his breath, he tried to calm himself down. It wouldn't do him any good to let the others see just how much more this was affecting him than usual. His nonchalance, playful attitude was crumbling with every passing second. Hopefully, the other mentors will pass it off as being worried about his tributes, considering District 4 is accustomed to a more_ watery _environment. With his tributes coming from the richer parts of the District, they know the bare basic of survival, never really feeling the need to expand their knowledge — even when he insisted they take the Training Days seriously._

 _There she was, standing on the podium; stance relaxed but ready to run. Her hazel-honey eyes darted to the others, before scanning the Cornucopia. She's looking for her knives._

 _An array of gifts was laid out at the Cornucopia: swords, spear, mace, backpacks filled with essential supplies, and on top of the crates was a pack of throwing knives, sitting fortunately next to one of the backpacks. It was quite a distance away from where Lena was starting, but Finnick knows just how fast she can be. He'd seen it._

 _His mind thought back to the Training Days. They managed to sneak away to the rooftop, voided of cameras and with the wind muffling any recording devices; his Lena broke down in his arms. He struggled to hang onto whatever tether to his sanity he could possiby grasp. The days apart were torturous, laden with worries and intense fear. Finnick even played on the idea of gaining sponsors for her, but Lena_ venomously _rejected the idea._

"— _and here we are! Let the countdown commence!"_

 _He remembered how it felt standing there: adrenaline surging through his veins like molten metal, his heartbeat ringing in his ears, the instinct to fight-or-flight had never felt more potent. He remembered the tunnel vision, how close he was to panicking, but held firmly to his calm demeanor, mind turning to his memory of his Lena._

 _His promise to her._

 _Oh, how those sixty-seconds felt like an eternity._

 _The camera panned to his Lena, standing underneath the scorching artificial sun, hair twisted up into an elegant bun that will surely come undone; the breeze whipped strands of her hair across her face. She stood strong and tall, eyes narrowed against the unkind sun and stared straight ahead._

 _Let the massacre begin._

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Light, fluttering kisses brings him out of his dark musing. He smiles, meeting her lips with a turn. Their passion ignites within seconds; he pulls her up, straddling his lap. Finnick lets his mind races ahead as he places one hand on her hip and entangles another within her raven-locks. God, will he ever get accustomed to the ardor she excites within his soul?

Never.

The days apart hurts so badly. He needs her touch, a glimpse or smile for fear he'll go insane. Just the sight of her fills him with the most glorious feeling of contentment and warmth, a level of happiness he never thought possible to achieve. His Lena, his personal nirvana, his saving grace tethering him to sense and yet just one curl of her lips is enough to make him lose all sense of reasoning.

It matters not that she had to entertain _other_. It matters not that others had seen her. So long as he holds her heart as she held his in her hands, he knows that she is all he needs.

"Where did you go?" Her eyelids hooded, heavy with desire as her chest rises and falls.

"Nowhere." He replies; she replies back with a raised brow. "It's just…" Finnick takes a deep breath of her scent: honeysuckle and summer days, "I remember the arena and in a couple of weeks, we're sacrificing another twenty-four kids to the Capitol. Lambs for the _slaughter_ … I don't know if I can stand another year of this Lena. The _clients_ , press… _Snow_."

It's impossible to withhold the hatred he has for Snow; granted, he's not the only one who hates Snow with a passion. Johanna Mason, Gloss, just to name a few who feels the same way.

"You know," she caresses his check, "the clients, the Capitol's adoration are his way of breaking us, wearing us down until we're so malleable and pliable… but no matter how much he tries to break us, the victors, it is impossible to control _everything_. We still have our _thoughts_ , our _feelings_. We still have our _hearts_. We still have our _**will**_." The raven-haired huntress rests her forehead against his, entangling his blonde strands in between her fingers, anchoring themselves to this moment. "You know it won't be long before the Districts finally decide to stand together, united against the Capitol — against Snow. All Panem needs is a _spark_ to breathe this revolution to life." She smirks, "I'll like to see how Snow controls us then."

Finnick chuckles, tension slipping and anger leaving his body.

"Yes, so will I."


End file.
